


Going Off-Script

by fanflock



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, POV Second Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:52:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9276860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanflock/pseuds/fanflock
Summary: It's like a goddamn romance novel, except Taako is there.





	

**Author's Note:**

> just some good old fashion cheese tbh

The beaches of the Sunshade Peninsula have got to be one of the most cliché, idyllic date locations on the planet, Taako decides.

Walking barefoot along the shore, sun low on the horizon, hand in hand with the most handsome man this side of the Astral Plane, you feel like you’re on the cover of some over dramatic Nicholas Sparks novel, or at the very least one of those trashy paperback romances. “Bedded at the Bounty Hunter’s Convenience” or some other ridiculous title. Not that you’ve been bedded yet; the two of you are still in the chapter 2 portion of your relationship, yet to move past cheek kisses and hand holding. A dude could dream though.

Kravitz certainly looks the part beside you, shoes still on, but sleeves rolled up to the elbows and tie long forgotten. His jacket had been draped over your shoulders at the first sign of a shiver, and you’re rocking that look hard. He slows to a stop, taking in the skyline with a distant stare. It’s goddamn pretty, for sure, but you’re pretty bad at appreciating things like that, so after a minute you give him a little shoulder nudge.

“View’s down here, babe,” you joke, breaking him out of his thoughts. He chuckles, looking down at you with soft red eyes. He brushes a stray strand of hair out of your face with such gentleness that you have to hold yourself back from making a fart noise at him in an effort to keep your trademarked goofy shell intact.

“Taako…”

“That’s my name.” He smiles and stands up a little straighter, shoulders back.

“Taako, you are by far the strangest man I’ve possibly ever met-”

“Hah, way to compliment a guy.” You interrupting Kravitz isn’t an uncommon occurrence, but he seems thrown today, stopping immediately.

“Ah, no, I meant it in a nice way.” You grin, gently elbowing him in the ribs.

“I know, bubula, I’m just goofin’.”

“Ah, right, well,” he clears his throat, re-correcting his posture. “Taako, you are by far the strangest man I’ve possibly-“

“Yeah, I got that bit.” He stops again, like you’ve shoved a very literal wrench into his gears. He recovers quicker this time and starts again.

Quietly, under his breath, “…by far the strangest man I’ve possibly ever met,” and back to regular volume, “and also the most interesting. I-“

“Man, you’re making this sound like a speech. Did you practice this in front of your mirror or something?” you ask with a smirk. You meant it as a joke, but it stops him dead in his tracks. He goes a bit too quiet, a moment too long, avoiding your eyes a bit too much, and it’s enough for even you to put the pieces together. “Oh my gods, _is_ this a speech? You’d better not be proposing and confessing your undying love to me right now, because I ain’t about the rushing in shit. That’s Maggie’s style.”

“No!” he says quickly. “No, not proposing, nothing that big,” Kravitz gives you a nervous smile, which looks only one degree off from a grimace. “I just… didn’t want to mess my words up.”

You laugh. “Doing a good job so far, then.” He gives you a little chuckle, not quite meeting your eyes.

“Yes, well, scratch that plan I suppose.” Aw dip, you’re fucking this up big time. For an immortal bounty hunter under the god of Death, Kravitz sure does effortlessly manage to make you feel like you kicked a puppy with steel toed boots. You grab his hand, pulling him back to the moment you just halfway killed.

“No no no no, it’s cute, bone bon,” you say, because it is. You wonder if he writes speeches for all his bounties too, and whether or not he pick his accents out before hand. But you shove that thought way down, with great force, because you’re trying to let Kravitz just talk for once. “Gimme that speech, no interruptions. I’m all ears,” you say, punctuating it with a flick of your frankly enormous (even for an elf) ears. He laughs at that, truly, fully, and straightens himself up a bit, poised like he’s delivering an address to the goddamn Queen of Faerun, and you wait.  
He clears his throat. You wait a bit longer.

“…oh fuck, I’ve lost it.”

You bite back a laugh, for his sake.

“Well gimme the sparknotes version. 50 words or less.” You’re still holding his hand and you give it a little squeeze, which makes his eyes light up like you knew it would.

In a moment of confidence, he looks you in the eyes and blurts out “I like you a lot and want to kiss you.” You blink, and he looks away just as quickly. “That was basically the gist of it.”

“That’s it?” If dead men could blush, Kravitz would surely be doing just that.

“It sounded better in the speech,” he mumbles. “At least, I think it did.”

“I bet it did, darling,” you say with a laugh, and oh shit there’s that kicked puppy look again. You feel even worse this time, because you’re standing on the beach at sunset and it’s obvious he’s tried so hard to make this romantic. Meanwhile you’re wearing a shirt with a weird stain on it because you’re too lazy to do your laundry and laughing at him for daring to make an effort. If you were a different person, his plan probably would have gone perfectly and you’d be swept off your damn feet.

As it stands, you’re still getting pretty close to that second part.

“You’re such a fucking old timey gentleman sometimes, I don’t know what to do with you,” you murmur fondly, catching his face in your hands. You lean in, up on your tip toes, and he catches your drift quick enough to meet you at the three quarter way point. You kiss him with purpose, slow and sweet and romantic like you haven’t done in far too long because he deserves that much after all his effort tonight. His hands find your waist, large and firm and pressing your bodies together (gods above you could get used to that). When you break apart, for the sake of your mortal lungs, he’s got this gooey eyed look that you tell yourself that you are absolutely not making back at him.

“That what you had in mind?” you ask.

“Even better,” he replies, using up his one good charisma throw for the evening and doing hell on your heart as he does.

“W-well,” you do not stammer, absolutely not, “I’m gonna give you a blank cheque on the kissing me thing from now on. No speech required.” Pressed up against him, you feel the laugh rumble through his chest and yours.

“Oh thank the gods,” he mutters, and before you can say anything else to ruin the moment his lips are back on yours, and yeah, consider your feet swept.

**Author's Note:**

> "Bedded at the Billionaire's Convenience" is a real paperback romance that my friends bought me as a gag gift once. I've never gotten past chapter 2 (which didn't even have hand holding OR cheek kissing, so what's even the point)  
> TAZ twitter @pocketspa


End file.
